"Don' yo' worry about me, Marser Frank," assured the darky lad. "Dat's de fines' hawse dat dis chile ebber seen, an' I'se gwan ter watch ober heem lek he wus de apple ob mah eye."
"I have decided to enter Nemo in the Mystic Park races at Bethany, Toots," Merriwell declared, "and I think I'll let you ride him, my boy."
Toots showed two rows of gleaming ivories and beamed with the greatest delight.
"If yer done dat, Marser Frank, I'se gwan ter win on dat hawse jes ez shore ez yeh bawn, sar!" he cried. "I'se done rid dat critter enough teh know he's a wondah, sar. Dat hawse is wuf a forchune, sar!"
"If you win, Toots, I may give you a chance to ride him in some races later in the season."
"If I don' win dat race, I done hope I nebber dror annodder bref, sar!" cried the darky boy, excitedly. "Dat'll show yo' what yo' kin do at de Coney Islan'
races. If yo's gwan ter gamble on dat hawse, yo's a dead sho' winnar, sar!"
"I am not much of a gambler, Toots, but I may back Nemo for a little something."
"Yo'll win, Marser Frank. If dis darky ebber knowed what he wus talking about yo'll win!"
Frank's enemies seemed remarkably quiet, but something told him that every move he made was watched. This was true, and they soon knew exactly what races he intended to enter Nemo for, and that the darky was going to ride the horse.